A Fox in the Warehouse
by Dr. Zachary Smith
Summary: The Jupiter 2 has returned to Earth. Smith's involvement in the disappearance of the ship has been covered up. It turns out Aeolus 14 Umbra is more powerful than anyone realized and they have another mission for Smith, whether he wants to participate or not.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Lost In Space or Warehouse 13. I'm just playing with the characters.

Author's Notes: I started writing this in 2012, well before the "Lost & Found" episode of Warehouse 13 aired. Which means, I came up with a specific artifact independently and my version may behave slightly differently than it did on the show. Imagine my surprise when it popped up on an episode!

The upper deck of the Jupiter 2 was abuzz with activity. Professor Robinson and Major West systematically checked the control panels as the rest of the family searched anxiously out the viewport for their intended destination.

"There it is!" Will exclaimed. He pointed out the small blue-green sphere to his sisters and mother.

"Earth," Mrs. Robinson said wistfully.

"I wish Doctor Smith could see this," Will said sadly. He turned and walked toward the freezing tube that held his friend in stasis. He placed a single hand upon it and studied the face beyond the glass, a face that hadn't aged more than a few days in the last ten years.

His mother came behind him and put comforting hands on his shoulders. "When we land, he'll get the medical attention he needs," she reminded.

That fact was bittersweet, as Will was sure that medical attention would be followed by imprisonment or worse. He couldn't be certain he'd ever see his friend again after they landed. It had been hard enough for him, seeing the doctor every day for ten years, yet not having him as an active part of his life anymore. Will's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by his father.

"You all had better get below and get strapped in," Professor Robinson commanded.

Mrs. Robinson rounded up her family and herded them below to prepare for their arrival.

...

Landing came sooner than Mrs. Robinson and her children had expected. It was a landing so smooth even Doctor Smith, had he been aware of it, wouldn't have been able to find a complaint about it.

No sooner had the ramp been opened for egress than a squad of Military Police stormed their way inside.

"Where is he?" the apparent MP leader demanded.

"Where is who?" the Professor asked innocently.

"You know damn well who. Colonel Smith," came the answer.

The Professor gave a telling glance toward the Major, who understood the meaning perfectly.

"He's in one of the freezing tubes," the Professor responded.

Without another word, the squad made its way to the upper deck, followed closely by the Professor and Major.

Before the leader could reach the controls to the cryogenic chamber, the Professor intercepted him.

"Now wait just a minute," Robinson began. "This man needs medical attention. I won't let you release him until you get certified medical personnel in here to take care of him."

"What do you care?" the squad leader replied. "This man tried to kill you and your family."

"He also saved our lives, several times, over the years," the Professor replied. "He's our friend."

The soldier wrinkled his nose in disgust. "We have our orders," the leader countered and tried to force the Professor out of his way.

With a quick nod toward the Major, a laser rifle sailed his direction, which he caught and quickly leveled at the lead MP. The MP studied it and then quickly glanced toward the Major, finding an identical weapon aimed in his direction.

The leader took a step back. "Alright, Robinson. We'll do it _your_ way." He radioed his superiors to explain the situation, who in turn brought the situation to the attention of General Squires. The General commanded the MPs to wait inside the Jupiter 2 for further instructions.

Smith was alive and he'd returned to Earth. His handlers at Aeolus 14 Umbra would certainly be interested in such news. Unfortunately for Alpha Control, Smith wasn't the only one in the employ of that secret organization. General Squires, the ranking military officer on the project, worked for them as well. It was he who had been able to convince investigators that Smith had acted alone and thus kept the existence of Aeolus 14 Umbra a secret. He placed a call to his contacts to break the news and request orders.

The General was informed that a team of Aeolus 14 Umbra medical personnel would take care of the doctor's medical needs. They knew full well that Smith had been convicted of treason in absentia, but they had plans that required a man of his particular talents. Rather than lose one of their better operatives, they concocted a plan with the General to remove Smith from the base and place him just where they needed him for his next assignment.

...

About half an hour later, the medical team arrived at the ship. The Robinsons and Major West, who had been on high alert since the MPs had arrived, visibly relaxed a little, confident Smith would receive the care he needed.

Major West sat his rifle in one of the command chairs and initiated Doctor Smith's release from years of frozen stasis. The Professor stood just outside the tube, waiting to assist the doctor. Smith tumbled out, unfrozen, but still unconscious, into the Professor's arms. Gently, the Professor settled the doctor to the floor and patted his face, but the doctor didn't respond.

With the Professor's help, the medical team situated Smith on a stretcher.

"No human has ever been in cryogenic stasis this long," one of the medics offered.

Suddenly, Smith's eyes fluttered opened, studied the familiar face hovering over him for a moment, and then narrowed in suspicion. "Professor… Robinson?" The face smiled back at him, but it seemed much older than he remembered.

"Where?" was all Smith could manage.

"Earth," the Professor answered.

A tiny smile tugged at the doctor's lips, but lacked the energy to fully form. More faces joined the Professor's, all familiar, yet all older. _The Major, Judy, Mrs. Robinson, Penny_. His mind rattled through the names with clarity. He puzzled a moment over the last face. "Will?"

The young man smiled and nodded.

"You've... grown," Smith observed. "How long?"

"Ten years," Will replied.

"Ten... years?" Smith's brow furrowed in disbelief.

An oxygen mask was lowered over the doctor's face, cutting short the brief reunion.

"We have surgeons waiting. We have to get him out of here now," one of the medics announced.

The Professor nodded. Still brandishing his laser rifle, he and his family followed the medical team down the ramp into a waiting vehicle which was headed for the base hospital. The first order of business was to get the doctor to surgery. The second order of business was to get physicals for the rest of the Jupiter 2 crew.

Once they arrived at the hospital, a few of the medical team distracted the Professor and the others while the rest of the team secreted Doctor Smith away to their Aeolus 14 Umbra facilities. Having their own medical check-ups to complete, the Robinsons would have no idea something was wrong for hours yet.

...

The surgeons were scrubbed and ready when Smith arrived.

"We're to repair a mitral valve prolapse, correct?" one of the surgeons asked.

"Yes," one of the Aeolus 14 Umbra operatives confirmed. "And you are to implant this, under my supervision." He brandished a small device that looked like a computer chip with several small, thin fibers extending from it.

Several members of the surgical team looked puzzled and the operative elaborated. "It is a control device."

"But... I thought Smith was already under Aeolus control," one of the surgeons stated.

"He is, but this new device will provide us with finer control than an artifact ever would. It will not only provide us complete control over the doctor, it will allow us to suppress whatever memories we wish. He won't even know he's working for us again."

"And what he doesn't know, won't hurt us," someone concluded.

"Precisely," the operative confirmed.


	2. Chapter 2

There was an unusual flurry of activity in Warehouse 13, the secret repository of wondrous artifacts that were imbued with strange energies and abilities. Warehouse Regent Adwin Kosan and Mrs. Frederic were there and although the senior agent Artie Nielsen had tried to get information from them, they revealed very little. All he knew was that they would soon be receiving another addition to the bronze sector.

"Artie, what's going on?" Pete asked.

"We're getting a new resident in the bronze sector. That's all I can tell you," Artie replied.

"Who is it?" Myka inquired.

"Ooh, I know. Ahmadinejad. Right? Wait, no. That Kony guy. Has to be him," Pete guessed.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Artie replied.

"You don't know?" Myka was surprised Artie hadn't been kept in the loop.

He shook his head and motioned for everyone to follow him. Myka, Pete, Claudia, and Leena fell in line behind him, talking and joking along the way. They all fell silent as they approached the bronze sector. Mrs. Frederic and Mr. Kosan were waiting along with several armed law enforcement officers. The subject to be bronzed stood between the officers, a dark hood obscuring his face and his hands cuffed behind his back. Whoever was under that hood was trembling.

The look on Artie's face held questions he didn't dare ask. He'd been involved in bronzing many criminals and he'd yet to see one so visibly afraid. They were belligerent, they were cocky, they were abusive, they were angry, they were resigned, or reserved, but never afraid. When Mrs. Frederic removed the hood, Artie's eyes widened in surprise.

"Mrs. Frederic, there has to be some mistake," he said to the austere caretaker of the Warehouse.

"There is no mistake, Arthur," she replied sternly.

Artie studied the "criminal" and hesitantly, addressed him. "Smith?"

The man before him cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. It took a few moments, as if he was searching through long buried memories, then the slightest glimmer of recognition registered. "Arthur Nielsen? Or should I say _Agent_ Nielsen?"

Artie nodded his head.

"I almost didn't recognize you. You're more..." he searched for a delicate description, "ample... than I remember. A touch more gray, as well."

Artie shot Smith a look usually reserved for Claudia when she teased him. "You haven't changed much since I last saw you, Smith. Though, you're a tad more 'ample' yourself."

Smith looked insulted for a moment, then his countenance softened and gave Artie a look that wordlessly said "Touché".

Smith looked around, completely taken aback by his surroundings. "Is this... the Warehouse?" Immediately, Smith searched his memories, but came up empty. How did he know that?

Artie's heart skipped a beat. He was also questioning. _How did he know?_ He certainly hadn't learned about it from him.

"Artie, who is this guy?" Pete asked. "How do you know him? And how does he know about the Warehouse?" Pete was getting major vibes from the doctor, but he couldn't resolve whether they were good or bad. That made him very uncomfortable.

Smith saw the look of surprise on his friend's face and something he didn't understand compelled him to continue with knowledge he couldn't possibly have known. "Arthur, I would have loved if you had shown me around this place... under other circumstances, of course. I imagine this is how our _wonderful_ government," he said with a measure of disdain, "safely contains such marvelous devices similar to the one that you liberated me from all those years ago."

Mrs. Frederic shot Artie a look that made it clear she was not pleased Smith knew about the Warehouse. Since Artie knew the man, it followed that Artie had told him. She never gave him the opportunity to explain. They'd discuss it later, in private. Then the woman shot Pete a look that made it clear now wasn't the time for discussion.

"Mrs. Frederic, this man isn't a criminal mastermind. I know him. It isn't in his nature," Artie pleaded.

"Agent Nielsen, this man is responsible for the sabotage of the Jupiter 2 project and several assassinations at Alpha Control, the CIA, and the NSA. I have it on high authority that he is a high level operative in a subversive organization whose sole purpose is to take down the United States. He is a traitor and make no mistake, he's dangerous," Mrs. Frederic explained.

"I'm innocent!" Smith yelled. The charges of sabotage came as no surprise, but the other charges were completely false. Something was seriously wrong here. He couldn't help but feel he was taking a fall for the acts of others at... at... the name suddenly escaped him. He made a convenient scapegoat, specifically because he was a low level operative and had very little knowledge of the rest of the organization. He was a convenient sacrifice to throw the authorities off their trail. He knew the organization had infiltrated the upper levels of the US government, but he didn't realize how high. He had the feeling he was about to learn. Somebody with that kind of power had set him up.

"Mr. Smith," Mrs. Frederic began.

"Doctor Smith," he corrected.

"Doctor Smith," she began again, "There is sufficient evidence to convict you of all charges. Our orders come from the highest levels of government."

Smith began to panic and struggled against his bonds. "Agent Nielsen... Arthur. I implore you. If anyone can decipher this mystery and discover the individuals responsible for this injustice, you possess the ability." Smith swallowed hard. "You saved me once before. Please... don't let me down."

Mrs. Frederic gave a silent signal to the officers, who unlocked the cuffs binding Smith's hands. They dragged an uncooperative Smith into the chamber and secured his hands to the wall. As the chamber began to close, Smith uttered one last anguished plea, "Artie?" The last thing he'd remember seeing before he shut his eyes in terror was the sad, sympathetic look of his long-time friend.

"Arthur?" Mrs. Frederic prodded.

Though it pained him to do so, Artie's thumb hovered hesitantly over the touchscreen for a moment and then stabbed at the controls to start the bronzing process. He hung his head and closed his eyes, feeling for all the world like he had just betrayed a friend.

Artie walked away quietly, heedless of his superiors and whatever else they might want him for. Mrs. Frederic called out to him, but he uncharacteristically waved her off and continued his trek back to the office.

Mrs. Frederic, Kosan, and the Warehouse agents stood silently, all completely confused about what had just taken place. Pete and Myka looked at their two superiors, then each other, and decided they'd much rather accompany Artie back to the office.

"Artie? Hey, Artie, wait up!" Pete called, as he, Myka, Claudia, and Leena jogged to catch up to him.

They bombarded him with questions, but he ignored all of them. When he got back to the office, he slid into his chair and glued his focus to the computer in front of him, hoping they'd get the hint and keep their questions to themselves. He wasn't so lucky.

"Artie?" Myka probed gently. "Who was that man?"

"How did you know him?" Pete asked.

"What's going on?" Leena added.

"You, involved with a 'criminal mastermind'? I don't believe it," Claudia stated.

Artie sighed heavily. He knew they wouldn't let him rest until he gave them something with which to make sense of the situation. He still couldn't believe what had happened himself. He composed himself and then gave them enough information to satisfy them.

"That... was Doctor Zachary Smith, former head physician and psychiatrist of the Jupiter 2 project."

"The Jupiter 2?" Pete interrupted. "Wasn't that the spaceship that just returned to Earth a few months ago after being lost for fifteen years? It's a good thing we bronzed that guy. Never know if an alien will burst out of his chest." Pete imitated the famous scene from the movie _Alien_ , complete with highly animated gestures and exaggerated sound effects. Glaring looks of disapproval from everyone quieted him quickly. He cleared his throat and was about to make some sort of excuse or apology, but thought better of it.

"Yes," Artie confirmed coldly. "Smith disappeared with it."

"So, he _was_ responsible for the sabotage of the Jupiter 2," Myka stated.

Artie hated to confirm the speculation, but it seemed clear Smith was at least guilty of that particular charge. Still, the charge wasn't sufficient to warrant bronzing. And he didn't believe Smith was fully responsible for his actions. He felt it in his gut. As far as the charges of murder, he was absolutely sure they were false.

He continued, "There was speculation in the intelligence community that he was responsible for the loss of the ship. His disappearance cast suspicion on him, but I refused to believe it at the time. I attempted to contact Smith several times. After a while, it became clear that he _had_ been involved."

"How did you know him, Artie?" Myka inquired.

Artie sat quietly a moment and dusted off old memories in his mind. "Smith and I... we go way back. A mutually beneficial friendship, I guess you could call it." A quirky, lopsided smile briefly graced his face. The other agents settled in, realizing this might take a while. He continued, "I met him shortly after I started at the Warehouse. I got a ping on an artifact, Franz Anton Mesmer's magnet. As it turned out, Smith was a victim of it."

Myka interjected, for the benefit of those who hadn't read the manual, namely Pete. "Mesmer's magnet? Doesn't that allow the holder to control the actions of whoever is touched by it?"

"Exactly," Artie confirmed. "And its victims don't remember anything that happened while they were under its influence. I managed to snag the magnet, but not the person, or persons, that were using it. I don't know what their motives were and Smith couldn't shed any light on that due to artifact induced memory loss, but he was extremely grateful to me for freeing him from its influence. We became good friends for a while after that. He, uhh..." Artie hesitated a moment. "He helped me work through a few things," Artie added hastily and went back to focusing on his computer once again to avoid the sensitive subject he had just alluded to.

"Wait, you said he was a psychiatrist," Myka recalled.

Pete seized on that immediately. "Artie... he was your shrink?"

"Well, if anyone in the Warehouse needed one..." Claudia began.

"He was a _friend_ ," Artie insisted.

"Who happened to be a psychiatrist," Myka added.

Artie rolled his eyes and sighed loudly. "Yes, he was a _friend_ who happened to be a _psychiatrist_. I didn't lay on a couch and he didn't ask me about my childhood. He simply gave me advice as a friend. Ok?"

The annoyance in his voice served as a warning to everyone that he didn't care to continue that line of discussion.

"Touchy, touchy," Claudia muttered.

Pete revisited those vibes he'd felt earlier and a question formed in his mind. Out of curiosity, he decided to ask Artie. Maybe he could provide a tidbit that could explain what he was feeling.

"Artie, you said you rescued Smith from the influence of an artifact, one that allowed the holder to control his actions. You never found who was responsible. Is it possible..."

"...that they got to him again with another artifact?" Artie finished Pete's thought. "I was thinking the exact same thing. It's entirely possible. In fact, highly probable, especially given his later position and rank of colonel at the Jupiter 2 project. I knew Smith for nearly fifteen years before he disappeared. I find it hard to believe he would do what he's accused of, let alone be capable of it. Smith has many faults, but I refuse to believe he's a murderer." Artie nodded his head. "He has to be under the influence of an artifact."

"That might explain the major vibage I was getting," Pete revealed.

"Vibes? Good vibes or bad vibes?" Artie asked.

"That's the thing. I couldn't tell," Pete replied.

"You don't think Smith, being compromised, could pose a danger, do you?" Myka asked.

"In his current condition? No," Artie answered. "If he was free..." He didn't want to even speculate. It pained him to think Smith had fallen victim again. Whoever was preying on the doctor had struck right under his nose. How could he have missed it?

"Artie, I hate to say it, but I don't think we're going to unravel this mystery unless we de-bronze the doctor. We need to talk to him," Myka stated.

"I agree," Artie replied. "The hard part will be convincing Mrs. Frederic."

"Convincing me of what?" Mrs. Frederic's sudden appearance startled everyone in the room.

Artie swallowed his heart, which had leaped into his throat. No matter how many times she did that, he never got used to it.

Myka stepped forward and answered for Artie. "Mrs. Frederic," Myka's voice pitched a little higher than she'd have liked. She cleared her throat and calmed herself. "We were just discussing the possibility that Doctor Smith might have been under the influence of an artifact when he sabotaged the Jupiter 2."

"Yeah," Claudia piped up. "Artie told us that a previous attempt had been made to control this guy with an artifact. If Artie says he knew him and he was acting out of character, it wouldn't be far fetched to think..."

Mrs. Frederic cut Claudia off. "Arthur? Why don't you fill me in on your relationship with Doctor Smith? Specifically... how did he know about the Warehouse?"

Artie nervously ran his hand over his beard. He gave her a quick overview of his relationship with Smith and then answered her question. "Mrs. Frederic, I never told Smith about the Warehouse. I have no idea how he found out."

"You never said or did anything that may have tipped him off?"

Artie shrugged. "We never discussed the Warehouse. In fact, after I neutralized Mesmer's magnet, we never even discussed artifacts. He seemed kind of terrified by the whole experience."

"Wait a minute," Myka interjected. "If you didn't tell him, Artie, someone else must have."

"Probably whoever put a whammy on him in the first place!" Pete exclaimed.

"They most likely have another artifact," Artie added, "and they've used it on Smith. They want him for something and it's not good."

"They _know_ about the Warehouse," Myka repeated, voice full of concern. "And they have access to artifacts."

"Mrs. Frederic, we _must_ question Smith. He's our best chance at finding some answers right now. This goes well beyond the Jupiter 2 project. There's much more at stake here. I can feel it," Artie explained. "If anyone can tell us who's behind all this, Smith can."

"I will discuss this with the regents," she replied. "In the meantime, Smith _stays_ bronzed. If what you suspect is true, he is a danger to us and to the Warehouse. Do you understand me?"

Artie nodded solemnly. He knew she was right, but he was conflicted. He had to figure this out for Smith's sake, for all their sakes. He couldn't fathom Smith becoming a permanent resident in the bronze sector. He didn't deserve it.

Mrs. Frederic must have sensed what Artie was feeling. She put a hand on his shoulder, but he couldn't bring himself to look at her. "Arthur, we'll do what he can for him, but you of all people know that when artifacts are involved..."

"Yes, I know," he said, cutting her off abruptly to keep her from voicing what he didn't want to hear. When he turned to look at her, she was gone. He looked to the other agents, but they were as mystified as he was. He'd never, ever get used to that.


	3. Chapter 3

The following day, while the others were busy with inventory and other tasks, Artie stole away to the bronze sector. He quickly found his friend among rows upon rows of the evil and criminally insane.

Artie stared into his friend's unseeing eyes. "What happened to you, Smith? What did they do to you?" His mind searched for answers, but without input from Smith, there were too many pieces missing from the puzzle. He had sabotaged the Jupiter 2. Had they forced him to kill as well? The thought was so repugnant it almost made him ill.

"You do know he can't answer you, don't you?" he heard a jovial male voice say from somewhere behind him.

Artie turned around, somewhat embarrassed at being caught essentially talking to himself. "Pete."

"Artie? You okay, buddy?" Pete mentally kicked himself for inserting himself into a moment Artie had obviously meant to be private.

"Fine," he said quickly. "I'm fine."

"I... I didn't mean to intrude," Pete apologized. He hated awkward moments with Artie and Artie certainly didn't make it any easier.

"It's fine. It's all good," Artie replied. His defensive walls were completely raised and all trace of emotion removed from his demeanor.

"You're needed back at the office," Pete mentioned. "But, uh... take your time. It's not urgent or anything."

Artie nodded. "I'll be there in a few minutes." He waited until Pete had left the area, then turned back to his friend.

He gave Smith's bronzed shoulder a few pats. "You don't belong here, Smith. I'll prove it," he vowed.

...

Darkness. All he knew, all that surrounded him was darkness. His mind searched desperately for any sensory input. There were no sights, no sounds, no touch, no taste, no smell. He couldn't feel his own heartbeat, he couldn't take a breath, yet he was fully aware. He wanted to scream, to cry out to anyone who might hear, but his vocal chords didn't obey.

He suddenly realized that he was utterly alone. He had felt loneliness before, most of his life, in fact, but this was completely different. It eclipsed any loneliness he'd ever known. He was so completely disconnected from any living thing that he wanted to cry, but no tears would form. Surely, this must be hell.

The loneliness in itself was enough to torture the doctor, for he was by nature an incredibly social creature, but another thought filtered into his consciousness. Someone he considered a friend had put him here. His mind screamed, it raged, it wept at the sense of betrayal.

How long had he been like this? Five minutes? Five hours? Five days? Time lost all meaning. Whether Arthur was able to decipher the mystery, as he'd asked him to, and ultimately free him from this hell, it wouldn't matter. It would be too late. He'd go mad long before then. He felt he was on the verge now. How long? How long could he maintain his sanity? Perhaps he'd already lost it. Or perhaps this was all just a nightmare. _Wake up!_ he told himself. _Please, wake up._

Something snapped him from his terror. Someone was near. He couldn't see them, he couldn't hear them, but he sensed them somehow. _Arthur? Is that you? Please, Arthur, release me. I beg of you. Release me! Dammit, Artie! You put me here. If you don_ _'_ _t release me, I_ _'_ _ll never forgive you!_

All too quickly, he felt the presence leaving. _No! Come back! Please? I_ _'_ _m sorry, Arthur. I_ _'_ _m so sorry. Please... don_ _'t leave me._

...

As Artie entered the office, he immediately spotted Mrs. Frederic. He suddenly got the feeling that everybody else knew something he didn't.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"Arthur, I've talked to the regents," Mrs. Frederic announced. "Since it is apparent Smith received information about the Warehouse from outside sources, the regents have agreed to allow you to question the doctor in order to determine the source of his information. We cannot allow the Warehouse to be compromised. A word of warning, this action has not been approved by the official who ordered his bronzing. The regents felt it was imperative that we keep knowledge of this investigation to Warehouse personnel only."

Artie nodded. "Thank you."

"Oh, and Arthur," she added, "he _will_ have to go back to the bronze sector when you're done questioning him."

He nodded again, "Understood." In that case, he planned on 'questioning' Smith for as long as he could get away with. He scratched his chin and tried to contain the nervous energy that was urging him to sprint, as best as a man of his girth and age could, down to the bronze sector to release Smith. He took a deep breath and waited for Mrs. Frederic to finish with official business.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Pete asked.

Artie looked at Pete, then looked to Mrs. Frederic to see if there was anything else. She was already gone.

"Nothing. Let's go," Artie said. He was halfway out the door before anyone else had even moved.

...

Pete, Myka, and Claudia accompanied Artie to the bronze sector and were nearly as excited as their boss to release the doctor. It was clear Artie was fond of the fellow, yet he'd never spoken of the man to any of them. Their curiosity was definitely piqued. They, of course, were naturally a bit wary of anyone who'd merit bronzing, but they trusted Artie.

With help from the others, Artie situated Smith in the chamber.

"Gently," he cautioned, "gently."

"Artie, he's made out of bronze, not eggshells," Pete replied.

"Yeah, but if he gets dinged up, I'll never hear the end of it from him," Artie answered, almost gleefully.

Quickly, he jogged to the controls and initiated the de-bronzing process. When the panel indicated the process was complete, he pressed a button to open the chamber door.

He expected a happy reunion with Smith when the chamber door opened. What he saw instead was Smith on the floor of the chamber, curled in a fetal position. His eyes were shut tightly and he was trembling and whimpering softly. When Artie kneeled down next to him and placed a hand on his arm, Smith shrank back and pressed himself flat against the wall, completely terrified.

"Artie? What's going on? What's wrong with him?" Myka asked. She hadn't been witness to many de-bronzings, but none she had seen had ever gone like this.

The three agents crowded around the chamber to see what was going on.

"Back off! Back off!" Artie growled protectively. They all immediately obeyed.

"Smith, it's ok. It's me... Artie," he said gently.

Smith slowly opened his eyes, but had trouble focusing. The sudden rush of sensory input was a complete shock to his system and his sensitive mind.

"Ar...Artie?" Smith's voice sounded so weak and afraid.

"I'm here," he confirmed. "Can you see me?"

Smith nodded, but admitted his vision wasn't exactly clear yet.

Artie proceeded cautiously, trying to keep Smith calm by announcing all of his actions before he performed them. "I'm going to check your pupils." He had no idea if Smith had hit his head on the way to the floor of the chamber, but a quick look confirmed his pupils were fine. He helped Smith to a sitting position.

"Could someone get me a bottle of water?" Artie asked.

Claudia volunteered and ran off to procure the requested item.

"Arthur, please don't do that to me again," Smith pleaded. "I don't think I would survive it."

Artie smiled in reassurance, but privately he wondered if perhaps Smith was right. The doctor's reaction worried him. He'd never seen anything like it. Artie dreaded having to bronze him again.

Smith squeezed his eyes tight.

"Smith, you alright?"

"Too bright. Too loud," he complained. He caught a whiff of sweat dripping down Artie's body. "Too pungent," he added.

Artie laughed, which elicited a weak smile from Smith. "You're a little 'ripe' yourself."

Smith's eyes popped open in surprise. The sharp retort he had planned never crossed his lips, as he quickly moved to shield his still sensitive eyes.

Artie held his hand up to shade external light sources from directly hitting Smith. The doctor slowly opened his eyes again and blinked rapidly a few times as he adjusted to the light.

"Ripe, indeed," Smith sniffed haughtily. However, he quickly changed his tone. "Did you do it?" he asked hopefully.

"Do what?" Artie asked.

"Clear my good name," Smith answered.

"I haven't had time. Besides, we needed to talk to you first," he explained.

"Haven't had time? How long was I trapped in there?" Smith asked.

"About sixteen hours."

"Sixteen hours? It felt like an eternity," Smith complained.

"I know," Artie said sympathetically.

"Got it!" Claudia exclaimed as she approached the bronzer. She handed the bottle over. "He gonna live?"

"I don't know. I'm not the doctor," Artie looked to Smith.

Smith nodded. Despite the all-consuming terror he'd felt mere moments earlier, he felt safe now. The doctor was a survivor and more resilient than he often gave himself credit for.

Artie relayed the answer, "The doctor says he's gonna live."

"Thank God," Pete exclaimed. "Do you know how much paperwork we'd have to do if he'd kicked the bucket?"

Smith's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"He's joking," Artie clarified. He opened the bottle and handed it to Smith, who took a small swig at first, then proceeded to greedily down the rest of the bottle.

"Feel better?"

Smith nodded.

Artie stood and offered Smith a hand up, which he gratefully accepted. Smith put a hand to his lower back and declared with a groan, "My back is a tad delicate today."

Artie smiled. Some of the old Smith was shining through. "Are you hungry?" Artie asked as he started to escort Smith back to the office.

"Arthur, have you ever known me to miss a meal?" Smith asked with a grin. The promise of food did wonders for Smith's mental state.

"Ah, a man after your own heart, Artie!" Pete joked. He attempted to pat Artie's midsection, but Artie deftly sidestepped the maneuver and shot him an annoyed glance.

"Do you still make those divine oatmeal scotchies?" Smith inquired.

"Cookies!" Pete squealed. "Artie, you haven't made a batch of cookies in a while. I think in honor of our 'guest' here, you should whip up a batch." Pete leaned over to Myka, "I think I'm gonna like this guy."

"Reserve that judgment until you really get to know him," Artie laughed.

A wicked grin spread across Smith's face at Artie's statement. That grin gave Pete pause and his own grin quickly turned into an unsure frown.

"He doesn't bite," Artie assured Pete.

"Arthur, you haven't seen me in eighteen years. How do you know I haven't added that to my repertoire?"

Artie laughed at the absurd mental image that inspired. Pete, Myka, and Claudia all shared amused glances. They were enjoying the banter between the two old friends. More than that, they were glad the doctor had made a quick recovery.

"Well, when dealing with hostile aliens, you do what you must," Smith added.

"Aliens?! Cool!" Pete gushed. He fired off a volley of questions. "What did they look like? Did they have ray guns? What were their spaceships like?"

"Pete, not now." Artie admonished.

Pete piped down, but continued to excitedly discuss the possibilities of alien life with Claudia and Myka in the background.

Artie leaned toward Smith and whispered, "Aliens?" Sometimes he couldn't tell if Smith was pulling his leg.

Smith nodded. "I'll regale you with my intergalactic exploits later. You'd never believe it."

"Oh, I don't know," Artie replied. "The unbelievable is my line of work."

When they got to the office, Artie phoned Leena and told her to expect a full table for dinner, including a special guest. When Leena questioned who the guest was, Artie spent several minutes convincing her Smith wouldn't be a problem. He'd take full responsibility. He called on favor upon favor until she relented and agreed to play host to the doctor. He didn't know if Mrs. Frederic would approve of letting Smith leave the Warehouse and frankly, he didn't want to ask for fear of refusal. So, he took matters into his own hands. What Mrs. Frederic didn't know wouldn't hurt her.


	4. Chapter 4

Smith consumed dinner with his usual gusto. Throughout the meal, he regaled the Warehouse crew with tales of his outer space adventures. Artie enjoyed it immensely, but he, unlike the others, knew full well Smith was an accomplished storyteller with a history of embellishment. He was positive the stories weren't completely true. The others, of course, wished they could share tales of their own adventures, but knew that was forbidden. Smith didn't mind. He quite enjoyed being the center of attention.

Dinner finished with Smith's customary compliments to the cook. He excused himself to get some fresh air. Artie followed as close as a shadow, partly to talk to Smith, partly to keep an eye on him. The others broke off into smaller groups to talk and relax during their scarce free time.

...

At the same time, in a small sparsely decorated office, two men sat monitoring something of great interest on a computer screen.

"Ping Smith, let's see how he's doing," the first man said. "His friend Arthur Nielsen must have made a plea to the Regents by now to release him so he can interrogate him and attempt to clear his name."

The other man sent some commands through the computer interface and waited patiently for the transponder embedded in Smith's body to report his location and vital signs.

"They took the bait! Smith's vital signs indicate he's been revived. But, he is not currently located within the Warehouse. He's approximately seven miles away."

"Damn. They must have taken him somewhere. Keep an eye on him. As soon as he's back in the Warehouse, call Nox and tell him to transmit instructions to the control chip. I'll send him a list of the types of artifacts we require via encrypted channels."

"Will do."

...

Smith stood just outside on the patio, quietly observing the view. Artie watched him from just inside the door. The doctor breathed deeply of the cool night air. He had spent years longing for the day he'd return to Earth, but in his dreams, he never imagined he'd return to scorn and imprisonment. He, of course, knew in the back of his mind that it was a possibility, but he'd gotten used to having even the most dire of situations resolve favorably for him and his traveling companions. He had no reason to believe that their return home would be any different.

Artie stepped outside to join Smith on the patio. "Nice night out," he said by way of conversation.

Smith smiled. "Delightful," he replied. "It's been a while since I've breathed the fresh air of Mother Earth. I've missed it."

Artie detected melancholy in the doctor's voice. He quickly changed the topic of conversation. "You know, I've been meaning to ask you, why is it that you look like you've hardly aged five years since I last saw you. Time dilation wouldn't explain a discrepancy _that_ big," Artie laughed. "I know you, it couldn't possibly be due to clean living."

Normally, the doctor would enjoy the little jab from his friend and would retort with one of his own. Instead, Smith's smile turned to a frown and Artie instantly regretted his statement. "What? What's wrong?" he asked.

"Arthur, I _have_ only aged five years," Smith explained. "Ten years ago, I discovered I had a severe mitral valve prolapse. That's a 'leak' to you," he said with a smile.

Artie raised an eyebrow, as if to say "Really? You had to explain that to ME?"

Smith continued, "I required surgery for survival. We didn't have the equipment needed and I was the only one with the knowledge and skill to perform the surgery. My only chance was to place myself in one of the cryogenic stasis tubes in the hopes we'd find our way home or come upon a civilization with the technology to heal me."

"You've spent the last ten years... frozen? No wonder you reacted so badly to bronzing. I'm sorry. Had I known about your illness..."

"Arthur, you couldn't possibly have known. Besides, cryogenic stasis is much different than bronzing. In stasis, I was essentially in a deep sleep, a hibernation of sorts. I was not conscious, I was not aware of anything. If I had been, I guarantee you I would have been completely mad by the time they released me. The human mind was designed to interpret a multitude of sensory input. Awareness without sensory input is... is..." Smith swallowed hard. "Don't subject me to that again, Arthur."

"Given your illness, I think perhaps I can convince the regents to make other arrangements. We have a physician assigned to the Warehouse. Should I call Dr. Calder and make arrangements to..."

"I appreciate your concern," Smith interrupted, "but it was taken care of six weeks ago. Professor Robinson was quite adamant I get treatment immediately after we landed. In fact, before he'd let the MPs deactivate my freezing tube, he held them at bay with a laser rifle until they agreed to take me directly to a hospital for surgery. He accompanied them, with the laser rifle, to make sure they honored their promise." Smith smiled sadly at the memory. "I haven't seen the Professor or the rest of my companions since. I didn't even get to say 'goodbye'."

Artie wasn't quite sure what to say. All he could think of was "I'm sorry."

Smith acknowledged the sentiment with a nod. He folded his hands together, leaned his elbows on the patio railing, and stared off into the distance. "It was quite a shock to awaken to find that the children... had grown up without me."

Artie could certainly understand Smith's sense of loss. He'd endured plenty of loss himself over the years. It didn't take much for Artie to deduce how much the Robinson family meant to Smith. They were Smith's family, just as the Warehouse crew was his. Artie could sense sincere affection for them in Smith's words, in addition to sincere remorse for actions that, had he succeeded, would have destroyed them.

Artie cleared his throat and prepared himself to ask an uncomfortable question. He had business to attend to.

"What happened, Smith? Why did you do it?"

"Do what?" Smith asked innocently.

"Sabotage the Jupiter 2."

Smith couldn't bring himself to look at Artie. "As I've maintained time and time again, Arthur, I was trapped aboard the craft when I went to check the helium nitrogen ratio. I had the nagging feeling I'd turned the valve the wrong way."

"You never could lie to me, Smith. I can't help you if you lie to me. I ask again, why did you do it?"

Smith had been lying to others, and himself, for so long that the truth was hard to bear and even harder to admit. What's more, he wished his lies were true. His actions had caused him to lose almost everything he held dear. Admitting guilt might lose him the rest. He refused to answer.

"Is it possible you were under the influence of an artifact?" Artie asked.

Smith shook his head. "No." He sighed heavily. "I think, perhaps, you don't know me as well as you thought."

"Then tell me what I don't know about you," he replied.

"That could take an eternity. I'm sure you have better things to do with your time."

Artie's frustration began to show on his face and in his voice. "Why must you always be so difficult!?" he growled. "I'm trying to help you! Either you cooperate or I can stick you right back into the bronzer like I've been ordered to."

"No!" Smith tensed, holding his hands up in appeasement. "No... Alright, Arthur, I shall cooperate to the best of my ability." Facial muscles on the left side of Smith's face twitched briefly, a sure sign the doctor was stressed.

Artie asked the question again, "Why did you do it?"

Smith averted his eyes from Artie's steely gaze. "I did it... for money."

"Money? That's it? You did it because you were _paid_ to do it?" Artie shook his head angrily. "You were willing to kill a family, women and children, for..." he stopped abruptly. The guilt and shame was evident on Smith's face. The doctor flinched visibly as every word spoken seemed to slam into him with an impact Artie had not intended. As despicable as he found Smith's actions to be, he couldn't help but feel sorry for the man. It was clear he was troubled and was not the man Artie remembered.

He continued with a much softer and calm voice. "The other charges, the murders at Alpha Control, the NSA, and CIA. Were you paid to commit those as well?"

"Those charges are false!" Smith argued vehemently. "Arthur, I know you don't have much cause to believe me right now, but you must, because I speak the truth. I am _not_ a murderer. Someone else is trying to point the finger of blame at me for those crimes. I can only assume it is to misdirect the authorities away from the true perpetrator. I freely admit to sabotage, which I'm fortunate did not fully succeed, but I did _not_ commit murder!"

Artie attempted to calm the doctor. "I believe you, Smith. I believe you."

"You do?" Smith said hopefully.

Artie nodded.

"So... what now?"

"We find out who framed you and why," Artie replied.

Smith closed his eyes and released a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

"First, I need to know who told you about the Warehouse," Artie demanded.

Smith searched his memory. He should know the answer to that question. He knew he did. Then, why wasn't the name coming to him? After a few moments, Smith replied, "I can't seem to recall."

Artie frowned and his eyebrows furrowed. "With your memory, Smith? Stop playing games. I need names."

"Arthur, my involvement with this individual was over twenty years ago. He was incredibly secretive. Even if I could recall his name, which I can't, I would assume it was an alias."

"You're not going to make this easy, are you?" Artie grumbled.

"I'm sorry," Smith said sincerely. He shook his head. "I should know this, Arthur. I did know this. I just can't seem to remember."

Artie sighed heavily. "Don't worry about it." Then he grinned evilly, "We have ways of making you talk."

Smith's eyes grew wide in alarm.

Artie laughed. "Completely painless and harmless, I assure you."

The doctor relaxed slightly, but not completely. He certainly would like to provide the information Artie needed, but was uncomfortable with the prospect of someone possibly browsing through his most private thoughts.

"For now, I think it's best we get you back to the warehouse," Artie suggested.

"The warehouse? I thought we were to stay the night here," Smith replied. "Wouldn't it be more comfortable?"

"Yes, it would, but if Mrs. Frederic found out I let you stay here overnight, instead of keeping you securely locked up in the warehouse..."

"Understood," Smith interrupted. "I wouldn't want to get on her bad side."

"Smart man," Artie answered.

"Too true!" Smith chuckled in response.

As the two of them came back inside, Pete was waiting with Myka. "Going back to the warehouse?"

"Yeah," Artie confirmed.

"We'll come with," Myka suggested.

"No need. You and Pete get some rest here."

"Now wait a minute, Arthur. If this vision of loveliness would like to accompany us, I think we should let her," Smith smiled. He held out his arm, which Myka graciously accepted. Smith escorted her out to the car. "So, how did a brilliant and ravishing beauty such as yourself get involved in this line of work?"

Artie turned to look at Pete, shrugged, and followed them out.

Pete, who'd chivalrously offered Myka an arm before only to be refused, turned back to Leena and Claudia. "I don't get it. What's he got that I don't?"

"Manners," Leena answered.

"Sophistication," Claudia added.

"Charm."

"Command of the English language."

"Ok, enough, I get it," Pete interrupted, exasperated. Leena and Claudia stifled chuckles. Pete gave the two a wave and a smile, grabbed an oatmeal scotchie for the road, and jogged out to catch up with the others.


	5. Chapter 5

On the drive back, Myka and Smith engrossed themselves in conversation about literature. Myka mentioned the work of a Russian poet and Smith recited one of his poems in perfect Russian. Myka's eyes lit up and the two continued their conversation alternating between Russian and English. Pete occasionally glanced back at them from the front passenger seat, then at Artie, who grinned at the look on Pete's face. He'd seen that look before, on the faces of other men who were frustrated, jealous, angry, or irritated when the doctor turned on the charm around women they knew.

While Pete currently had no romantic designs on Myka and doubted Smith had either, for some reason, it irked him that the man, one who had just been de-bronzed, was getting so friendly with his partner, especially since he was getting confusing vibes about him. Pete's vibes weren't screaming danger at him, but they weren't exactly putting him at ease either.

When they arrived back at the warehouse, Pete couldn't get out of the SUV fast enough. He waited, arms folded, near the entrance for the others. Myka handed Artie a few items from the back seat, while Smith exited the vehicle. Just as Myka was about to open her door, it was opened for her. "Miss Bering," Smith extended a hand to help her disembark, which she graciously accepted with a smile.

"Why, thank you, doctor."

Pete rolled his eyes and mumbled mockingly "why thank you, doctor".

Artie caught the sarcastic comment as he neared the warehouse door. He shot Pete a self-satisfied smile, as if to say "I told you so". Smith had his redeeming qualities, but he also had a way of getting under someone's skin, sometimes purposely, but often times quite accidentally. Pete was beginning to understand what Artie meant about waiting to get to know Smith first.

"Eto moye udovolʹstviye," Smith responded to Myka's "thank you".

Pete asked Artie, "What did he just say?"

"He said it was his pleasure," Artie answered.

"I bet..." Pete griped.

...

As Smith entered the umbilicus, behind Artie, he briefly lost his balance and stumbled. He brought a hand to his head as Myka grabbed his elbow to keep him upright.

"Are you ok, doctor?" Myka asked, concerned.

Artie, who was a few steps ahead, turned and came back to the group. "What's going on?"

Smith shook his head. "Nothing. I'm fine now. All the excitement today must have been a little too much for me." Of course, that was a complete lie. He wasn't fine. Something was wrong and it concerned him. It was as if he had blacked out for a split second. What Smith didn't know was that once Aeolus 14 Umbra realized he was back at the Warehouse, they had sent his first instructions to the control chip embedded in his brain. The chip had necessarily blocked his conscious thoughts from processing the instructions. He was once again working for them and completely unaware of it.

When the quartet got to the Warehouse office, Artie offered Smith a choice between the couch or his bed upstairs. Smith chivalrously deferred to Myka and requested she have first choice, but Artie gruffly explained neither Myka nor the rest of them would be sleeping while they were there.

"We're here to keep an eye on you," Artie explained. "And get some work done."

"I see," Smith smiled in amusement. He could tell by Artie's demeanor that he didn't quite trust him. "Well, it's not exactly my usual bed time, Arthur. Do you mind if I stay up a while yet?"

"Not at all," Artie replied. "If you need anything, I'll be on the computer."

"I was hoping you'd join me in a game of chess," Smith answered.

Artie smiled. "Maybe later."

Smith glanced at Myka. He gave her a warm smile. Then he looked at Pete. "Agent Lattimer, would you care to join me in a game of chess?"

Myka studied Smith. She was sure he was up to something and interrupted. "Pete's not really the 'chess' type," she explained.

Smith's eyebrows raised. "Oh, I see," he said smugly.

"Now wait a minute," Pete interjected. "I can play chess. My dad taught me and he was pretty good."

"Then you accept my challenge?" Smith asked.

Artie swiveled in his chair to face the two. "Pete, I wouldn't bother, if I were you," Artie replied.

"What? You both don't think I can play? You don't think I can beat this guy?" Pete said, agitated.

"Oh, I think you can play," Artie replied. "I just don't think you can beat him."

Pete turned to Smith. "You're on."

Artie rolled his eyes and turned back to his computer console. "Don't say I didn't warn you," he mumbled.

Pete ignored the comment and began the game. Smith made his move a split second after Pete's. Undaunted, Pete continued, weighing each move carefully. It unnerved him how quickly Smith made his moves after he did. The man didn't seem to even think about it. Pete convinced himself it would be Smith's undoing. Smith would make a mistake, he'd catch it, and take advantage of it.

Smith knew exactly what he was doing. He had his moves planned well in advance, shifting his strategy as Pete made his moves. He occasionally sacrificed a piece to keep the game interesting and Pete thinking he had a chance. Pete's turns seemed to grow longer and longer as he studied the board. Smith had no intention of hurrying him up. He made small talk and gently coaxed little bits of information from Pete, right underneath Artie's nose. They were seemingly innocuous questions and comments separately, but together, they built a picture useful to Smith's given mission.

Every once in a while, Artie would turn to observe the game. He knew Smith was toying with Pete. He'd shake his head and turn back to his work. Pete would catch him out of the corner of his eye, but didn't seem to catch on.

After Smith's last move, a smug smile grew on Pete's face. With a flourish, he put Smith's king into check. "Check!"

"Well played," Smith lauded. Pete laughed and nodded, feeling he had the game sewn up. Smith then proceeded to take Pete's rook with his queen, which not only took his king out of danger, but put Pete's into checkmate. "Howsomever, I do believe that's checkmate."

Pete's smile quickly faded into a frown. He studied the board and retraced his steps, wondering how he could have missed that. Myka hadn't. She saw the danger a few moves ahead, but didn't say a word. She knew Pete wouldn't take her advice. He'd want to win this, or lose it, on his own.

Artie glanced over his shoulder. "Told you."

Pete silently mimicked Artie behind his back, which only amused Smith more. It finally dawned on the agent. "You were just toying with me, weren't you?"

"Agent Lattimer, you wound me. I played against you as I would any other talented chess player. You provided quite a challenge. If you're agreeable, I'd be willing to let you avenge your loss with another game," Smith offered. Inwardly, Smith chuckled, as he would show no mercy this time.

Pete studied the doctor. He couldn't read him. He certainly sounded sincere. He suddenly wished Jinks was there to tell him if he was lying or not. He badly wanted to beat Smith even more now, but decided he needed a break to regroup.

"You're on, but how about we take a little break before our next game?" Pete asked.

"Fine with me," Smith answered. He stood and wandered toward the door to the office which led to the warehouse. He widened the space between the blinds over the windows with a thumb and forefinger and peered out at the treasures that lay beyond. The urge to possess those treasures took hold of him and he trembled slightly as he fought the impulse. The feeling troubled him. If Arthur caught him stealing, it would be back to the bronzer for him. Aside from that, his past experience with artifacts was less than pleasant. Yes, their power was enticing, but the thought of the downside he'd experienced was more than a deterrent. He'd built up a strong aversion to the magical mystery objects. Why would that suddenly change?

As Smith opened the door, Artie cleared his throat. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Just outside the door, Arthur. I promise I'll stray no farther," Smith answered.

"I'll make sure you don't." Artie got up and accompanied the doctor outside the office.

Smith leaned against the railing, deep in thought for a few minutes. Artie quietly took up residence next to him, letting his friend make the first comment. When Smith finally turned to Artie, the look on his face was disquieting. Artie knew that look. He'd seen it before. It was usually accompanied by Smith's plea, "Be careful, Arthur." Back then, Smith had no idea of Artie's real line of work, yet somehow he always knew when Artie would be facing danger. Then it dawned on Artie. Perhaps Smith was just finely attuned to a person's anxieties. He was a psychiatrist, after all. That made sense. He must've been reading Artie and concluding he was in danger by his level of anxiety.

"What's wrong?" Artie asked.

"I'm not sure," Smith confessed, "but something's very wrong. I've had the growing feeling that..." his voice trailed off as he tried to make sense of things. Suddenly, the feeling was gone, like it was completely erased from his consciousness.

Artie cocked his head. "The feeling that what?"

Smith shook his head, more than a bit confused, but he continued on with his train of thought. "Arthur, don't misunderstand, I'm grateful to you for releasing me. I do not think I could have remained entombed one second longer and still retain my sanity. Please believe me when I say I would _never_ willingly be involved in anything that might hurt you." Smith's preamble was making Artie nervous. "But... I have the unsettling sense that by releasing me, you've placed yourself in great danger," Smith concluded.

"What danger? From whom?" Artie probed. "Not _you_?"

"I... I don't know," Smith confessed. "I don't think so. I was put here for a reason, by someone who wanted me out of the way. They obviously have the clout to call in some rather large favors. By helping me, you're crossing them." Smith's brow furrowed in concern. "Be careful, Arthur."

"Aren't I always?" Artie said with a forced smile.

Smith smiled in response. "No, not _always_."

The blunt truth elicited a laugh from Artie. "I'll be careful. Besides, this time, we have help." He looked back to the office where Myka and Pete remained.

Normally animated and talkative Pete sat quietly on the couch while Artie and Smith talked. Pete's behavior did not go unnoticed by Myka.

"Pete, what's wrong?"

"Vibes, Mykes. Big, scary vibes," Pete confessed. "I need to talk to Artie." He pushed himself off the couch and headed towards the office door. The vibes got stronger as he neared the two men.

"Uh, Artie, can I talk to you..." Pete gave Smith a weak smile, "privately?"

Smith excused himself and went back inside the office.

Once Artie was sure no one could overhear, he addressed Pete. "What's on your mind?"

"Vibes, Artie."

"About Smith?"

"I think so. I've been getting conflicting vibes around him all day. But these last ones... bad, Artie. Very bad."

"Smith was just telling me he had the feeling that by releasing him, I've put myself in danger. He thinks if those that put him here find out he's loose and talking, they'll come after me. Could that account for your vibes?"

"Wait... Smith had a bad feeling? Does he get vibes too?" Pete asked.

"It's not really vibes, not like you get. He seems to sense danger," Artie answered. "Do you think maybe you were sensing the same thing he was?"

Pete thought a moment and then nodded. "It could be. I'm just not sure."

Artie lowered his voice to a whisper. "If you get any more vibes, you let me know immediately." Artie looked into the office at Smith, who was sitting on the couch conversing with Myka. "If an artifact is involved, we can't be too careful. And, as much as I hate to admit it, we can't trust Smith. Not completely. Though, I do trust his instincts that we're in danger," Artie admitted.

Pete nodded. He was positive they could trust the doctor in that respect. He wasn't sure they could trust him on anything else.

Pete cocked his head and made a random observation. "You know, he kind of reminds me of someone, but I can't figure out who."

"Mrs. Frederic," Artie answered immediately.

"What?"

"Mrs. Frederic. It's the way he addresses everyone so formally. 'Arthur', 'Agent Lattimer', 'Miss Bering'. He reminds you of Mrs. Frederic."

"Oh my god! You're right! That is sooo creepy. That's cause for alarm in itself, don't you think?"

Artie laughed. "That's where the comparison ends, I assure you. Well, almost."

"Almost? You mean there's more?" Pete asked, intrigued.

Artie flashed a lopsided smile, but didn't elaborate as he headed back into the office.

"He's not going to start popping up behind us out of the blue and scare the living sh.." Pete trailed off his comment as he entered the office behind Artie. The two had the full attention of Myka and Smith, who had cut short their conversation upon their entrance.

"Everything alright, Arthur?" Smith asked.

"Fine," Artie answered. "Just giving Pete some chess pointers."

"Yeah," Pete replied. "Perhaps Artie should play you next, instead of me. I bet he could give you a run for your money."

Artie shook his head. When he noticed Smith's eyes on him, watching him with interest, he sighed heavily.

"That sounds like a splendid idea, don't you think, Arthur?" Smith replied with a smirk. He had missed their chess games and the jocular competitiveness that came with them. Artie provided him with a challenge, the kind of which he hadn't had since his last game with Will. Oh, he could beat both of them, but such an outcome had never been a sure thing. He enjoyed toying with Pete, but it was always much more fun when the outcome was in doubt.

Artie surveyed the room, looking for a way out of his predicament. It's not that the thought of playing Smith was unpleasant. It was that he just didn't have time to do anything other than focus on the job at hand. Playing Smith took all his focus. It was a true battle of wits when they played and the two were always so competitive that he didn't want to give Smith anything less than his full attention.

Just then, Claudia entered and immediately felt like she'd walked in on something she wished she hadn't.

"You know who you should play?" Artie asked. He swept an open palm towards the young warehouse agent. "You should play Claudia."

Smith appraised her, then looked questioningly back at Artie. "You think she'd pose sufficient challenge for me?" he asked.

The doctor's statement pretty much confirmed Pete's growing suspicion about Smith's chess prowess.

"She's beaten me before," Artie answered.

Smith's lips curled devilishly as he studied her again. "Has she now?"

Claudia recoiled a bit. "Uh, since I'm obviously involved in this conversation somehow, mind clueing me in on what it's about?"

"Chess," everyone said in unison.

"Ah," Claudia replied. "So, you're setting me up, old man, to play against this... other old man."

Two sets of graying eyebrows rose. Pete interjected, "She calls every male over the age of fifty 'old man'," he explained. Artie looked at Pete and the agent amended his statement. "Ok, every male _in the warehouse_ over the age of fifty, which... would pretty much just be Artie."

"Old man, indeed," Smith sniffed indignantly. "You know, Arthur, you're older than me now."

Silence hung in the room as Pete, Myka, and Claudia tried to make sense out of that seemingly nonsensical statement. Eventually, Claudia physically shrugged it aside. "You know, you're right. Obviously, there can be only one 'old man' and Artie was here first, I've known him longer, and well, I hardly know you at all. So, I dub thee 'Doc'."

"Doc?" Smith looked questioningly at Artie, who just shrugged. "Young lady, I'll have you know that one doesn't attend medical school for..."

"Would you prefer 'Zach'?" she offered.

"I kind of like 'Smitty'," Pete added.

"Zach?!" Smith harrumphed.

"I'll take that as a 'no'. C'mon, Doc. You gonna play or what?" Claudia asked as she sat down at the chess board and began to arrange the pieces for a new match.

Smith looked around the room and everyone gestured towards the empty seat across from Claudia. He took it and began to arrange the pieces on his side of the board.

Claudia gave him a wicked grin from across the table. "You have no idea what you're in for, Doc," she boasted.

Smith opened his mouth with a retort at the ready, but Artie supplied it for him. In a deep, calm voice designed to sound ominous, he replied, "Oh, no, Claudia. You have no idea what _you_ _'_ _re_ in for." He followed the statement with a wicked, lopsided grin of his own. She turned to look at Smith, who mirrored Artie's grin. The two stared her down as if they were hyenas eyeing fresh meat.

"Ok, could you two get any more creepy? Is that your strategy? Creep me out to throw me off my game?" Claudia made her opening move. "Your turn, Doc."

Smith played a little slower than he had with Pete. It was clear the young lady would be more of a challenge, so he picked his moves cautiously. If she could beat Artie, she could beat him. He wasn't in the mood for the humiliation.

Claudia studied Smith and she studied his moves. Within his first seven moves, she could tell he was a formidable foe and this would be no ordinary chess game.

"Gotta give ya props, Doc. You're no pushover," Claudia said.

"I'll take that as a compliment, delivered in your own unique dialect, no doubt," Smith replied. "You're no slouch yourself."

The strategic battle playing out in the warehouse office drew the interest of everyone in the room, including Artie, who had sworn he was going to get work done. He couldn't help it. The weeks of Claudia gloating about his last defeat made him long to see her get a taste of her own medicine. If there was anyone who knew the irritating art form of gloating better than Claudia, it was Smith.

Tense hours rolled by, as advantage switched back and forth between the two players. They chatted amicably until Claudia began to feel the pressure of the match and then her comments became short and terse. Smith, however, chatted along as usual about this and that. Claudia imagined the temperature of the room seemed to rise, but Smith seemed unaffected, calm and cool, as if he knew something she didn't. He'd made a few unusual moves, but she wasn't concerned. They seemed to be to her advantage. Still, it concerned her that he wasn't concerned. She calculated dozens of possibilities from the current positions on the board. What was she missing? She couldn't tell.

Claudia decided to continue with her current strategy and made her move. Smith's move followed a split second later. His move made no sense whatsoever. She looked at him, confusion clouding her face.

"What did you do that for?" she questioned.

Smith smiled. "I believe the old adage goes... 'That is for me to know and you to find out'."

Pete laughed at the familiarity of the phrase. The more his audience was amused, the more Smith was amused.

Artie and Myka stood on opposite sides of the board. Myka was trying to figure out Smith's strategy. Artie already knew it. Claudia saw the look in his eye.

"You know what he just did, don't you, old man? You've seen this before."

"I'm not going to answer that," Artie replied.

"And why not?" Claudia asked.

"Because you won't like my answer," Artie concluded. He looked at Smith and motioned a thumb in the doctor's direction. "Aaaand, because he would probably kill me in my sleep if I told you."

Claudia looked at Smith, whose face was eerily neutral.

"However," Artie continued. "I will give you a word of advice once given to me by a grandmaster."

"And what's that?"

"Never let them see you sweat," Artie replied.

Claudia frowned. "I thought it was going to be something useful." She sighed and took Smith's remaining rook with one of her bishops, opting for what she deemed the safest move.

Smith made his next move as quickly as the last. Claudia became irritated. "Arrgh. Can you just stop doing that?"

"I know. Irritating, right?" Pete sympathized.

"Don't let him get to you," Myka counseled.

"He smells blood," Artie stated ominously, his voice lowering on the last word.

Claudia took much longer to make her next move. Smith clearly was gaining an advantage. Several of her pieces were covered quite well with his, limiting her options, but she felt sure she had a fighting chance. She took Smith's bishop with her queen, but as soon as her hand was off the piece, she squeaked, "Oh crap." Claudia's eyes widened as realization dawned on her. Just as Pete backtracked his last few moves, she analyzed hers as well. Where had she gone wrong?

"Tell her, Arthur," Smith said calmly.

"Checkmate in two moves, Claudia," Artie stated.

"I can see that," she huffed.

"There's no use analyzing the board, my dear," Smith stated confidently, as he made his next move. "There's no way out."

She looked up at him. "I can see that, too." She made her next move and gestured for Smith to take her queen.

"Checkmate," Smith said with finality. "Well played, madame," the compliment clearly full of admiration.

"Good game," Artie agreed. Myka and Pete echoed Artie's statement. They'd never seen a more grueling, well played chess game.

Claudia pointed at Artie. "C'mon, Artie. What was that thing?" She swung her index finger back and forth between Artie and Smith. "What did he do?"

Artie put his hands up. "Don't ask me. Ask him." He gestured towards Smith.

Smith leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. "I shall never tell," he declared.

"Funny," Pete said. "A grandmaster friend of Artie's told him to never let them see you sweat."

Myka picked up on Pete's meaning. "And here we have a brilliant chess player that doesn't seem to sweat. You wouldn't happen to have anything to say about that, would you, Artie?"

"Nothing at all," Artie replied evenly.

"A ringer!?" Claudia exclaimed. "He's the grandmaster. Artie, you knew about him and you were hoping to see me get beat."

"No comment." Try as he might, Artie couldn't completely suppress the grin that was tugging at his lips.

Myka caught it a split second after Smith did. She pointed at him. "Ahhhh, you were, weren't you?"

"Ahhh, look, he's smiling," Pete teased, as Artie's grin took full form. "He was."

Artie gave up the charade completely and nodded in slight embarrassment. "I didn't plan it that way," he clarified. "But that drubbing I got," he said melodramatically, "at the hands of Claudia, put me squarely in the good doctor's corner."

"Arthur, I thought you said you couldn't play me because you had work to do. You don't seem to be busy now, so how about a game?" Smith asked.

"Uh, yeah..." Artie backed his way toward his desk and pointed at his workstation. "I'm just gonna..." He slid into his chair, "Lots of work to do. Busy, busy." His fingers tapped the keyboard noisily as he kept his head down to avoid the looks he knew he was getting.

"But just a moment ago..." Smith continued.

"Can't talk," Artie interrupted. "Artifacts to find. World to save. The usual."

"Can't that wait? I mean, there are more important things than..."

"Nope, sorry."

Claudia looked at Smith and despite her irritation at being beaten, she smiled. From the look on his face, the man was clearly enjoying aggravating Artie even more than he enjoyed the game. Smith turned to look at her. He nodded his head in Artie's direction. When she caught his meaning, she smiled. He was egging her on.

"You know, Artie, I can handle that for you," Claudia offered. "Queries to run. Pings to follow up. I know the drill. Go spend some quality time with the grandmaster over there."

He waved her off and grumbled something incoherent.

Myka and Pete caught the little exchange between Smith and Claudia and wanted in on it.

"You know, Mykes, if I didn't know Artie as well as I do, I might come to the conclusion that he's..."

"Chicken?" Myka interrupted.

The two of them started bawking and strutting around Artie. He turned and held up one palm gesturing futilely for them to stop. His exasperation was clear.

Smith leaned across the board to whisper to Claudia, "He's such an easy target."

Claudia nearly snorted at Smith's statement. "I know!"

"I'm not chicken!" Artie yelled.

Immediately four amused expressions turned in Artie's direction. He had their attention.

"I didn't expect to get sucked in to that game, but I did, so I'm way behind. As you can probably attest, Claudia, playing at Smith's level requires one's utmost concentration and I just can't expend that kind of mental energy on a game right now."

"Fair enough, Arthur," Smith replied. "But you owe me a game, after you save my 'hide'. It's the least you can do."

Artie nodded and laughed. "Alright." He pointed a finger at Smith. "You should get some sleep." He pointed at Myka and Pete, too. "You two should probably get some rest too."

"What about you?" Myka asked.

"Someone's gotta keep an eye on him," Artie replied as he hitched a thumb in Smith's direction. "I'll be up for a few hours yet. I'll wake you in a bit. We'll take shifts."

Pete and Myka agreed to the plan. Smith was already making himself comfortable on the couch they'd moved into the office for him, so Myka ascended the stairs to Artie's bedroom, and Pete got as comfortable as he could on the floor. Smith tossed him a few pillows, which he gratefully accepted.

Artie dimmed the lights in the office, relying only on a desk lamp to provide light for his activities. He tapped lightly on the keyboard, not wanting to disturb the other occupants in the office. In a few short minutes, he heard light snoring coming from the direction of the couch, which didn't surprise the veteran agent. The doctor had had a long day. He must be exhausted.


	6. Chapter 6

A few hours later, Pete relieved Artie in watching Smith, who was still sleeping soundly on the couch. When Smith awoke that morning, Myka was on duty and Pete was sacked out on the floor. Not wanting to cut short Artie's rest, she occupied Smith with conversation until the veteran agent came downstairs.

Artie was all business that morning, ready to extract answers from the involuntarily uncooperative Smith. Pete and Myka watched the doctor while Artie went down into the warehouse to retrieve an artifact that would help him delve into the depths of Smith's hidden memories. Though the warehouse housed many artifacts with such properties, Artie chose the bronze baby shoes, which would allow he and Smith to experience the doctor's memories together. One of the main factors in its selection was that it looked the least intimidating. He didn't want to scare the doctor any more than he had to. He also wanted to experience the doctor's memories first hand and not hear them filtered through the doctor himself, just in case Smith was under the influence of another artifact. The bronze baby shoes fulfilled all requirements.

When Artie arrived back in the office, he pushed his desk chair over to the couch where Smith and Myka sat. His purple-gloved hands held the artifact out and, recognizing it, Myka and Pete immediately nodded their approval. Smith looked at the item, then at Artie, his left eyebrow arching skyward in question.

" _That_ innocuous looking item is an artifact?" Smith said, an air of disbelief evident in his voice.

"Yes. It is," Artie replied. He laid the bronze baby shoes in his lap while he took off his gloves.

"We'll just step over here," Myka said, hitching a thumb towards the other side of the office, so as not to interfere with the artifact's energies.

Artie held the artifact out to the doctor and Smith leaned back, as if he were afraid it would somehow reach out and grab him.

"It's perfectly harmless," Artie assured him.

"Perfectly?" Smith's eyes wandered over to where the other agents stood, well away from the two of them.

Artie's gaze followed Smith's and he smiled at the doctor's caution. "We've used it before with no ill effects," Artie stated. "Honest."

"How does it work?" the doctor asked, intrigued.

"We'll each place our hand on one of the shoes. It will transport us back into your memories..." Artie began to explain.

Smith interrupted. "Us?"

"Yes, I have to go with you to make sure you don't get lost in your memories, to make sure you come back."

"Perfectly harmless, you say?"

Artie chuckled. "Trust me."

Smith studied Artie for a moment and then hesitantly reached out a hand to touch the baby shoe closest to him. Artie touched the other one and the two joined one another in Smith's past memories.

In an instant, they found themselves in a dimly lit lab. The only source of light came from a desk lamp and a computer screen, in front of which was a younger Zachary Smith tapping away at the keyboard.

"Where are we?" Artie asked.

"Alpha Control," Smith whispered. He looked distractedly around the room, completely fascinated by the third person look at his own memories.

"He... uh, I mean, you can't hear us. Or see us." Artie wandered over to peer over the younger Smith's shoulder. "What are you working on?"

Smith came over to take a look. "Ah, code for the Robot," he answered.

Artie's eyes narrowed and he cast a questioning glance at the doctor.

"What?" Smith said innocently.

"There were reports that the Robot went berserk and damaged several of the ship's systems."

"It's not _that_ code," Smith replied indignantly. "It's the Robot's environmental assessment subroutines."

Artie leaned close to the screen and raised his glasses to look at it with unaided eyes. "Oh." He lowered his glasses back into place and turned to look at the highly focused, totally oblivious younger Smith. _This is so cool_ , Artie thought. _Some days, I love my job._ Suddenly he saw the older Smith appear on the other side of younger Smith.

"Fascinating," Smith remarked as he studied himself. "My left profile is best, don't you think, Arthur?" he said, turning his head to offer his companion a view.

Artie chuckled and shook his head. "So, why'd you bring us back to this particular day?" he asked. "What's supposed to happen?"

"I... I don't know," Smith confessed.

As the two were talking, the younger Smith locked his computer screen and grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair. He folded the jacket over his arm, grabbed his briefcase, and walked right through Artie. The two men followed him through the building.

A sense of familiarity trickled into Smith's brain. "Arthur, if this is the evening I think it is, I know why my subconscious brought us to this particular memory." Smith pointed to a clock on the wall. "I left work at approximately two o'clock in the morning. August 30th, 1996. Somewhere between this building and my car, I lost consciousness and awoke in my own bed nine hours later with no memory of the intervening time."

"Missing time," Artie mused. "Not something you'd easily forget."

As they approached the parking lot, they could see a dark figure following behind the younger Smith. Older Smith froze. He knew what was going to happen, only he'd never seen it from this perspective before.

Both men flinched as they saw the dark figure strike the younger Smith from behind.

"That had to hurt," Artie remarked.

Suddenly, everything went dark as the scene before them melted away into blackness.

Startled by the sudden void he found himself in, Smith called out in alarm, "Arthur!? What just happened?"

Before Artie could answer, they found themselves in what appeared to be some sort of hospital room, but instinctively they knew it wasn't. It was too warm. There were no windows. The fluorescent lights overheard flickered occasionally and emitted an audible buzzing. Younger Smith was strapped to a hospital bed and was just starting to regain consciousness.

The door to the room opened and several men entered, but their faces couldn't be seen. Artie tried to get a better angle to see who they were, but just as he was about to get a glimpse, Smith howled in pain and clutched his head. A high pitched squeal seemed to come from everywhere and drowned out everything the men were saying. Smith and Artie covered their ears, but it did no good. The image around them began to break up and suddenly, they found themselves back in the Warehouse.

Myka and Pete came rushing over. "What happened?" Myka asked.

"I thought you said it wouldn't hurt," Smith griped as he massaged his right temple. "Perfectly harmless, you said."

Artie sat bewildered. "I... I don't know what just happened. I was about to get a look at the men who kidnapped Smith when..."

"That persistent pitch nearly perforated our ear drums," Smith interjected.

"...and the image dissolved into static like a tv with bad reception," Artie finished. "Then we were back here." Artie put a hand on Smith's shoulder. "You ok?"

Smith nodded. The pain in his temple subsided, but the implant there stood ready to block any more attempts at discovering the identities of those who'd pressed Smith, quite unwillingly, into their service.

"What could have caused that?" Pete asked. "Another artifact?"

Smith shot a questioning glance at the man sitting across from him. "Arthur?"

"We discussed this earlier, remember? I suspect you might be under the influence of another artifact," Artie explained. "I think it's what caused you to sabotage the Jupiter 2. I know you're convinced otherwise, but we can't rule it out."

Smith shook his head. He couldn't believe it. No, as contemptuous as his actions had been, he was sure he'd made the decision willingly, for the money. Hadn't he?

"But I can't think of any artifact that would cause this," Artie continued. He turned to his fellow agents. "Myka?"

Myka shook her head slowly. "I can't think of anything off the top of my head."

Artie motioned her over to the computer. "Look for artifacts with control AND memory blocking properties," he commanded. "I'm going to take Smith back in and see if we can get any more information."

"Back in?" Smith asked apprehensively. "Arthur, maybe there's another..."

"Smith, you want to end up looking like these baby shoes?" Artie interrupted.

Neither of the choices was pleasant, but one was definitely more abhorrent than the other. Smith immediately grasped a shoe again, followed quickly by the veteran agent. Once again, they were in Smith's memories.

This time, they were in a lively bar and grill. A thick haze of smoke hung in the air and raucous laughter and conversation drowned out whatever was playing on the jukebox. In a quieter corner near the back, younger Smith was busy cutting into a medium rare Porterhouse and chatting with a gentleman whose back was to the two observers. Smith did most of the talking, but when his acquaintance talked, the sound was garbled and distorted.

Artie looked to Smith for an answer, but all he got was a blank look and a shrug. The two stepped closer to see if they could decipher the mystery of the acquaintance's identity. As they rounded on the gentleman, Smith let out a yelp of surprise. Artie soon saw why. Underneath the man's dark fedora was... nothing. There was a void where his face should have been.

"Something's wrong, Arthur," Smith stated. "This is not how I remember it. I mean, this is not how I _should_ remember it."

"Obviously," Artie huffed in frustration. "Who is that?" he asked, though he knew the question was pretty futile.

Smith nervously approached the man and examined him carefully, the shape of his jaw, the details of his clothing, the cadence of his speech, garbled as it was. Smith willed his brain to somehow fill in the void that covered the man's face, but to no avail. Suddenly, he heard his younger self mention a name. Nox. He knew that name. A face briefly flashed in his memory, but as soon as it came, it was gone, erased by the device implanted in his head. The man slid an envelope across the table to younger Smith, which Smith quickly pocketed. The man then turned his head until it was at such an angle that he would have been staring directly at the older doctor, had he any eyes. Smith yelped and stumbled backward into Artie in his attempt to distance himself from the disturbing visage.

As soon as Artie had righted the frightened doctor, Smith quickly put the veteran agent between himself and the specter and peeked over his shoulder. "I thought you said they couldn't see or hear us."

"Would you believe it was just a coincidence?"

The man shook his head, which sent shivers down both observers' spines.

"Uhhh, Smith, I don't think we're alone in here," Artie stated. "Someone is definitely trying to suppress your memories. How? I have no idea."

"May we go now, Arthur?" Smith's voice sounded frightened and childlike.

"Yeah, I think that would be advisable."

When it was clear Artie and Smith were back in their own reality, Pete came back over, full of questions. "Well? Anything?"

"Nothing," Artie sighed in frustration.

"No," Smith corrected. "A name. We heard a name. Which... I can't seem to remember."

"Nox!" Artie exclaimed, startling the doctor. He pointed at Smith. "You said it, I mean the younger you said it while you were examining our mystery man. It didn't register as a name at first because I thought you said 'knocks', which didn't make much sense in the context it was used. That's the name you're talking about, right?"

"I guess," Smith replied. "I'm afraid my memory isn't very reliable at the moment."

Artie looked at Pete, "Someone's suppressing his memory. I got the distinct feeling someone was in Smith's memories with us."

"Artie, how is that possible?" Pete asked.

The senior agent shook his head. "Has to be another artifact. Our mystery man looked directly at us. He seemed to shake his head in response to one of my statements."

"That's creepy. He's not supposed to see or hear you," Pete replied.

"I know."

Pete grabbed a pen and pad of paper. "Well, why don't you describe him and we'll see if we can find a match."

"Oh, that's the other creepy thing," Artie offered. "He didn't have a face."

"No face?"

"No face. Just a black... void. Nothing there," Artie shrugged. "Myka, any progress on tracking down an artifact that could do all that?"

She shook her head. "I found control artifacts. I found memory blocking artifacts, but none that do both."

"Could they be using more than one artifact?" Pete asked.

"Possible." Artie pushed his glasses back up onto his face. He studied Smith who was rubbing his right temple, a slight grimace betraying his discomfort.

"Arthur, I am getting a headache. May we take a break from these attempts to piece my memory back together?"

"Yes. Why don't we all go get some breakfast at Leena's?" Artie suggested.

"Excellent idea. I'm famished," Smith replied.

Artie reached under his desk, grabbed his bag, tossed it on top of the desk, and proceeded to pack a few items in it, as well as the bronze baby shoes, which he'd placed in a goo-saturated anti-static bag for safe keeping. He reasoned that perhaps the B&B would be a more relaxing, calming place to try delving into Smith's memories again.

Smith's face lit up. "The bag! You still have it."

"Artie's had that bag forever," Myka replied.

"I know, I gave it to him," Smith grinned. His harrowing experience with the bronze baby shoes quickly became forgotten as he reminisced about that doctor's bag. "It was given to me by my great aunt Maude upon my graduation from medical school. She said it belonged to my great, great grandfather. I used its contents to patch poor Arthur up after he tussled with those repugnant ruffians in an effort to liberate me from their clutches. He took quite a fancy to it, so, I presented it to him in appreciation."

"So that's where he got it!" Pete exclaimed.

"Told you it wasn't magic," Myka whispered to her partner.

"Well, aside from the fact it isn't made from carpet, it looks just like the one Mary Poppins had. Did you see her pull that floor lamp out of it?" Pete engaged in a little pantomime, using Artie's bag as a prop.

"Pete, you do realize that was a movie, right?" Myka asked.

Pete shot her an insulted look. "Shyeah, but I mean, it could happen. Just look where we work."

While watching the agents' exchange, Smith leaned over towards Artie. "Are they like that all the time?"

"I'm afraid so."

"It must be a lot like babysitting," Smith deadpanned.

"Quite."

Claudia, who had entered the office quietly, overheard the conversation and did her best to stifle a laugh. Despite Smith's pomposity, there was something likable about him. Perhaps it was his wry humor. Or his adaptability. Or maybe it was just because Artie seemed to get along so well with him. Whatever the reason, she was glad they'd all listened to Artie's gut.

Artie leaned towards Smith and whispered. "You know, that bag's an artifact."

"I know," Smith whispered back.

Artie's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"It became abundantly clear when items I knew I'd never packed in it appeared precisely when I needed them. Frankly, after my harrowing experience with the dark side of artifacts, I really didn't care to possess one, as innocuous as it may have seemed," Smith explained. "Besides, it never seemed to materialize anything I wished it would, like money to pay the bills."

Artie could only grin in response. "C'mon. Let's get going." He glanced quickly at his watch. "Leena's probably wondering where we all are."


End file.
